


Summer Sun, Something's Begun

by patroclilles



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, post 2x02, season two battle cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 11:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patroclilles/pseuds/patroclilles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian didn’t <i>promise</i> Mickey that he’d get him the job, per se. But the mood from that night, from their torrid rounds of sex, to the reminiscence of their childhoods, it made him feel like he needed to <i>prove</i> to Mickey that it wasn’t just some off the cuff suggestion. He needed to show that he meant every word, that he would want nothing more than to spend his summer days working and fucking and flirting with the one guy who let him in like Mickey Milkovich did.</p><p>Ian talked to Linda, and he got Mickey a job at the place he got shot. Just like he said he would.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Sun, Something's Begun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mickeysupset](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeysupset/gifts).



> Set two weeks after the 2x02 dugout scene. Title taken from the lyrics of "Summer Nights" from Grease.

Ian didn’t _promise_ Mickey that he’d get him the job, per se. But the mood from that night, from their torrid rounds of sex, to the reminiscence of their childhoods, it made him feel like he needed to _prove_ to Mickey that it wasn’t just some off the cuff suggestion. He needed to show that he meant every word, that he would want nothing more than to spend his summer days working and fucking and flirting with the one guy who let him in like Mickey Milkovich did.

Ian talked to Linda, and he got Mickey a job at the place he got shot. Just like he said he would.

 

On the day Mickey begins working at the Kash and Grab, he brings it up as coolly as he can.

“So, uh, my P. O. stopped by this morning,” he says, biting his lip as they restock the refrigerator, Ian from inside the freezer and Mickey from the outside.

“Yeah?” Ian asks idly as he shoves two handfuls of Coca-Cola cans onto the top shelf. Mickey, who is unabashedly stealing a look at the patch of skin that shows when Ian’s t-shirt rises as he lifts his arm, responds with an affirmative (and a little appreciative) hum.

“Said workin’ at this shithole was good enough. Guess I won’t end up losing a fuckin’ limb at the meatpacking plant, after all,” Mickey says aloofly, though he’s smiling like a goof because he was actually quite terrified of the possibility of losing extremities, and he knows Ian can’t see him smiling with relief from where he stands.

Ian chuckles, kneeling down to pick up the next handful of pop to put in the fridge. He has yet to meet Mickey’s eyes, so the brunette takes advantage and keeps looking over an oblivious Ian from the other side of the refrigerator.

“Told you I’d get you the job, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey says dismissively, walking away from the fridge, though he hasn’t dismissed it from his mind at all. In fact, it’s all he’s been thinking about since Ian mentioned it in the dugout a couple of weeks ago. The moment Ian said those words that seemingly held promise, Mickey was incredulous; couldn’t bring himself to believe that Ian would want him anywhere near the Kash and Grab after all he’s put it through.

He made himself believe that the words of Ian Gallagher - the words of the most industrious, conscientious, ambitious boy he’s ever known - held no resolution.

A week after those words were spoken, Mickey stared disbelievingly at the grinning face of Ian Gallagher on the desolate top floor of their favorite abandoned building, as the redhead told Mickey that he had actually gotten him a job at the Kash and Grab. Just like he said he would.

Mickey tried to play off his surprise by mocking Ian, of course; something about being addicted to Mickey’s ass or some shit. Ian, of course, did nothing to deny that. He fingered Mickey right after, so teasing and haughtily that it left Mickey at the mercy of a knee-buckling orgasm, just to prove it.

Mickey walks to the front door of the deli now with all of this in mind. He glances cautiously outside, making sure no one is approaching, and locks the door, flipping the “Open” sign to let the world know that the Kash and Grab will be no welcoming place for the next ten to twenty minutes.

Ian’s been babbling since Mickey walked away, but all Mickey hears is the buzzing in his brain, because he’s got something to do - something to _prove_ , and he doesn’t fucking know what it is. It frustrates him, because it’s a buzzing that apparently only his body understands and his mind is doing jack shit to keep up with whatever the fuck his legs are doing.

He finds himself in the freezer next, closing the door while Ian is still talking, the fucking chatterbox. Mickey vaguely registers something about how much of a hassle it was to get Linda on board with getting the Milkovich to work at the deli, but Mickey can’t really bring himself to care about how Ian did it. He got the job, he is _here_ , with Ian. Every day, all day. He gets to talk to him all the time, flirt with him all the time, fuck all the _fucking time_ , and at that thought, the buzzing stops.

Because, fuck yeah, they get to _fuck_.

And now Ian has finally shut the hell up and Mickey has him pressed against the freezer door, both silent in the freezing room, though there’s nothing frigid about the way the two boys are looking at each other.

“So, uh, I haven’t really thanked you yet for getting me work here, have I?” Mickey asks, casual as all fuck, as he pushes his palm higher on Ian’s sternum, keeping himself at arm’s length.

Ian’s face of surprise is quite a sight, and it revs Mickey’s confidence to an all time high, because while Mickey may initiate the sex most times, Ian’s always there to take whatever speed Mickey sets. Now, for once, it seems that the redhead is struggling to keep up.

“I mean, I think I gotta put these hands to good use,” Mickey goads, wrapping both his index fingers on the waistband of Ian’s jeans. He drags his fingers along the band, keeping his gaze on Ian’s wide eyes. He sees Ian’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. _Nervous_ , Mickey thinks. He likes that.

“Who knows?” Mickey shrugs, stepping closer as he unzips Ian’s pants, and by now Ian’s shocked expression is leaning towards a leer, both knowing and unknowing, because he’s caught onto where this is going, but Mickey’s never teased like this. It’s always been in and out and peace out between them.

But they’ve got time now, and Mickey’s taking his.

“Who knows...” Mickey repeats in a torturously low and husky voice, “I may have lost an arm by now if I ended working at the factory.”

“Ah,” Ian hisses in response as Mickey shoves a hand down his boxers and strokes him until he’s hard. “What a shame that would have been,” he breathes roughly, letting his head loll back against the door, smiling like the arrogant dick he is.

Mickey humphs at Ian’s newfound smugness, pissed off that even with Mickey having his dick in his hand and having Ian pressed against the freezer, this redhead fucker still thinks he’s got the Milkovich wrapped around his finger when it comes to sex, like he knows every move Mickey’s gonna make before he knows it himself.

Nah, man. Mickey wants to keep this guy on his toes. He’s gotta do something he hasn’t done before, at least not with Ian.

He drops to his knees, dragging Ian’s jeans and boxers down with him and, as it turns out, Ian’s smug expression wipes clear off and he gasps as Mickey takes him in one whole swallow. Ian’s hands shoot to find Mickey’s hair, rubbing at his scalp as he moans at the new stimulation.

 _That’s more like it._ Mickey would be grinning if it didn’t mean he’d have to stop sucking Ian’s dick to do it, and that’s not going to happen until Ian comes down his throat.

“Huh?” Ian grunts out as Mickey starts deep throating with zeal, holding Ian’s hips back to keep them from bucking out of control, and Ian’s quizzical noise is all it takes for Mickey to realize he’s having the fucking time of his life. He doesn’t even try to deny it to himself as he moans around Ian. _I should take him by surprise more often_ , Mickey thinks proudly. It makes him feel good, doing things no one would expect from him. He wouldn’t know it now, but he’d be taking Ian by surprise many more times in the years to come.

But that’s not important now. Mickey’s gotta make sure this blowjob he’s giving Ian, the _first_ blowjob he’s giving Ian, ends on the highest note.

He uses his hand to stroke the shortfall of Ian’s length, glad the weight in his mouth muffles his moans enough so he doesn’t hold back. He opens his eyes and looks up to find Ian staring back down at him, eyes glazed over with an unbelievably wanton expression. His mouth hangs open like his jaw is unhinged. And fuck, Mickey can’t look away.

He doesn’t look away when Ian shoots his load either; Ian’s heavy breaths, closed eyes, and load moans are all enough to keep Mickey’s entire attention on his face as he swallows Ian’s spunk. He leans back on his haunches, finally grinning the way he’s been wanting to since he got on his knees.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Ian pants, eyebrows raising as he looks down at Mickey, taunting. Mickey knows better than to think that being breathless will keep Ian from teasing.

“None of your fucking business,” Mickey grumbles and shifts off his knees. Ian chuckles as Mickey stands up before him, not making a move to step away from Gallagher. They lock eyes, both pairs soft and inviting. Silence befalls them.

Then, ever so slightly, Ian’s gaze shifts to Mickey’s lips and, much to his anger, Mickey reciprocates the gesture. Ian leans closer, and all Mickey can do to stop him is...nothing, really. At least, that’s what he thinks, but before he realizes what he’s doing, his palm is pressed again against Ian’s sternum. This time, it’s not to keep Ian at a playful distance; it’s to keep himself at a safe one.

Ian catches on quickly, and something in the way he’s looking at Mickey changes. It’s less soft now, less lost in bliss, like he’s finally stopped flying and has touched the ground.

Finally, after intent green eyes finish searching nervous blue one, Ian grabs the hand on his sternum and slowly guides it down back to Mickey’s side, as if to say, _okay. I get it. We’re not there yet._

And those silent words are all they say about the almost-kiss until a year later.

Knocks on the front door bring them back to the Kash and Grab. They both jump at the noise, and Ian’s the first to move and make his way out of the freezer. As he strolls ahead of Mickey towards the deli entrance, he walks backwards, eying up the rugged and disheveled boy who just swallowed his come for the very first time.

“You’re welcome,” Ian says, so sincere it makes Mickey's chest tighten. And all Mickey can respond with is his middle finger, though he wishes he can respond with a kiss.

 

Later on that day, as the sun sets and the boys are locking up, Ian grabs Mickey by the wrist and drags him back to the freezer. There, he presses Mickey against the door and pounds into him like _he’s_ the one who should be thanking Mickey for something. Or maybe he’s just doing it because he can. He moans, not really giving a shit about what the reason is, letting his head fall against his forearms on the door, as Ian comes inside him and he spirals in turn.

They both leave the Kash and Grab ten minutes later, making their separate ways back home, knowing blissfully and full well that they’ll both be back tomorrow to do it all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -[r](http://halseystr.tumblr.com/)


End file.
